


uselessness and duck

by torch



Category: Yami No Matsuei
Genre: Consent Issues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-05
Updated: 2011-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:27:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torch/pseuds/torch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don't touch the cursed items.</p>
            </blockquote>





	uselessness and duck

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: night, touch
> 
> Sequel-ish to _the lamplight dice of the body_.

Tsuzuki hammered relentlessly on Hisoka's door with his free hand, already thinking of the best way to break it down. Summoning Suzaku might be overkill. He knocked again, noticing that the door opened inwards, so maybe he could kick it in... then it opened just a crack and a very sleepy, cranky Hisoka glared out at him. "What. Do you want."

"The book from Yukimura's apartment," Tsuzuki said. "Have you -- you haven't read it, have you? Touched it?" But of course Hisoka had touched it, he'd carried it here, after all.

"I was _sleeping_ ," Hisoka said, with the kind of false patience that could erupt into fury at any moment. "I don't read in my sleep. Did you really wake me up to talk about that?"

"It's cursed." Tsuzuki couldn't make himself apologize, not now. He'd wake Hisoka and be yelled at a thousand times over rather than have any harm come to him. That wasn't something he needed to think about, it was just there, a truth like time and gravity. Both of which he took certain liberties with, actually, so maybe that wasn't the best comparison. "Needs to be locked in a lead box."

Hisoka rubbed his eyes. "And where do I get a lead box at this time of night? I swear, Tsuzuki--"

Tsuzuki held up his other hand, the one that had been behind his back. The one holding a large lead box. "Um."

Hisoka shook his head and grumbled something under his breath, and stepped back to let Tsuzuki in. White cloth fluttered around him in the darkness of the hallway. He looked ethereal, like a true spirit, but he sounded anything but as he gestured Tsuzuki into the small kitchen, where the book lay carelessly askew on a countertop and looked entirely too innocent.Tsuzuki glared at it, then picked it up with a potholder and wedged it into the box. It wouldn't quite fit and he had to push on one corner. Several times. With his bare hand. Tsuzuki sighed and slammed the lid down.

He turned around and looked at Hisoka, then blinked and looked more closely. Thin white cotton falling barely to mid-thigh. Some very familiar-looking buttons. "Isn't that my shirt?"

"It's comfortable. I'll wash it before I give it back," Hisoka muttered. It was hard to tell in the dim room, but Tsuzuki thought Hisoka might be blushing. Without thought, he stepped closer and brushed two fingers against Hisoka's cheek, feeling the heated rush of blood, and then a bright spark of pleasure and want that travelled from his fingertips through his entire body.

Hisoka gasped.

The book. That damn book. That cursed book, and maybe he should have worn lead-lined gloves to touch it.

And... and Hisoka had been carrying it around all afternoon, before anyone had thought to look into what it really was. And now he just stood here, looking cool as marble, except for that flushing cheek. Tsuzuki pulled his hand away, though it might have been less difficult to cut it off, and cleared his throat. "So, um, so it doesn't affect you, then. Much. Good. I'll just.."

Tsuzuki realized that low sound was coming from Hisoka just moments before Hisoka pounced on him, both arms going around him under his unbuttoned suit jacket, one leg coming up to wrap around his own. Tsuzuki staggered back until his back was against the wall and wrapped his arms around Hisoka in return, just catching him, of course, just holding him, because this was the curse of the book and Hisoka didn't know what he was doing. Then Hisoka tilted his head back, lips slightly parted, and it was absolutely impossible not to kiss him.

Fire. Tsuzuki knew fire, and this was it. Heat blazed through him, and the spark he'd felt before was nothing, nothing compared to this, and it was wrong and he had to stop and Hisoka was kissing him back, moaning into his mouth. He had one last thought of no and wait, and then the tongue twining around his own stole away all reason.

Hisoka was so light. Tsuzuki could pick him up easily, one hand under each slim thigh, and now Hisoka's arms went around his neck, and they left the kitchen and crossed the hallway, went into the bedroom, fell onto Hisoka's narrow bed, still kissing. Tsuzuki kissed Hisoka's cheek and jaw, licked at his throat and his ear, only dimly aware that Hisoka was trying to rip him free of trenchcoat and suit jacket and shirt, all the layers that separated them. Tsuzuki himself was more interested in tearing off the shirt that Hisoka was wearing. _His_ shirt, the one he'd given to Hisoka, and now that thin cotton was touching Hisoka's skin and keeping it from the touch of Tsuzuki's hands.

Tsuzuki ripped. Some of the buttons slipped through the buttonholes, others tore off, and Tsuzuki kissed his way down Hisoka's chest, only pausing briefly to shrug out of his own trenchcoat and jacket, too heavy, too hot. He licked and bit at Hisoka's nipples and Hisoka arched under him, giving thin, gasping cries. Hisoka felt wonderful, and Tsuzuki indulged his hands, pleasured his own fingertips with light strokes. He stroked all the way down to the hip on one side and played with the soft, thin skin just by the hipbone.

There was an unexpected smell here, something at once sharp and lemony and thick and greasy; Tsuzuki was ready to hate it for the way it interfered with Hisoka's own scent, but then he turned his head and saw the tube on the nightstand, cap still flipped open.

Oh.

Hisoka had been touching himself, every stroke eased with lotion, had been touching himself _and wearing Tsuzuki's shirt_ , and now Tsuzuki would hold him closer than the shirt ever could, would touch him everywhere, would touch him where he'd been touching himself.

Tsuzuki knew there was something important that he had to remember, something about Hisoka, something about touching Hisoka, oh, he couldn't get enough of touching Hisoka. Tasting. He licked again over Hisoka's tight nipple just to feel Hisoka squirm, propped himself on one elbow and traced the fingers of his other hand in from the hipbone until he was touching Hisoka's cock, hot and smooth, hard and leaking. Hisoka moaned, pressing one hand against his mouth; Tsuzuki bit his fingers until he pulled it away and they could kiss again.

This body pressed against his own, writhing, it was beautiful and strong and it wanted, and Tsuzuki wanted, too. To give, to take, to feel every part of Hisoka yield to him and to pleasure. He ran his hand down Hisoka's thigh, then up again on the inside, where the skin was even softer and smoother and... a little sticky. Tsuzuki's fingers followed the stickiness of the lotion, and oh, Hisoka was still slick here, where he'd been. Fingering himself.

Heat blazed up impossibly higher, and there was nothing like reason in the way Tsuzuki bit at Hisoka's lips and pressed his own fingers in. Hisoka cried out into Tsuzuki's mouth, and his voice tasted sweet. Hot and sweet like sugar and fire. Consumed, consuming. Tsuzuki didn't remember pulling his fingers out, didn't remember unfastening his pants, but he must have, because he was driving into this beautiful, strong body, eating every delicious cry from Hisoka's mouth. Sugar. Fire.

So tight, Tsuzuki said wordlessly, feeling Hisoka buck into the thrusts and wrap his legs around Tsuzuki's waist. So tight, so perfect, and now the sounds from Hisoka's throat were low and intense, at once demand and surrender. Tsuzuki burned with need, and his body gave what Hisoka demanded, thrusting deep, making Hisoka roll his head on the pillow and bite his lip and clutch at Tsuzuki's shoulders, nails sharp even through the fabric of the shirt. This intensity seemed to go on forever, locking them together, and all Tsuzuki could feel was need, was this utter _craving_.

Hisoka's breath caught, his legs clamped tight, his nails drove in, and he screamed as he came. The sharp clench of Hisoka's body tore Tsuzuki's orgasm from him, too, pleasure like fire as he came inside, deep inside.

And then he wasn't breathing smoke and sugar any more. Tsuzuki slumped forward, damp with sweat, cradled in Hisoka's body--

Hisoka's body. Hisoka. The thought was ice now, not fire. Tsuzuki dragged in a painful breath and remembered all the reasons why this was so terribly wrong. All the many ways. He lifted his head and met Hisoka's eyes, wide and shocky, and all he could see there was horror.


End file.
